


you can't punch every problem

by blacksandunderstars



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Awkwardness, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Friendship, Gen, Parent Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 08:43:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12384783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacksandunderstars/pseuds/blacksandunderstars
Summary: . . . in which Korra is an awkward turtle-duck, but comes through for Asami anyway . . .





	you can't punch every problem

The fire had been a reflex. Korra had found that nothing made an opponent back off quite like a scything blade of flames. The heat alone would make anyone think twice.

And it had worked. Asami had backpedaled so fast she lost her balance and went over backwards, thudding against the practice mat.

But at that very same moment Korra had seen Asami’s eyes go wide with fear, and then she’d remembered the way Asami’s mother had died, and knew she’d made a mistake.

She’d apologized, immediately, profusely.

Asami had laughed it off, waving her hand dismissively. But the whole rest of the sparring session she had this hunted look. Afterward, she’d barely spoken a word, and what little she’d said had been short, brittle words.

She left in a hurry.

Korra watched her go. It was dark by then, and the colorful city lights made for a disconcertingly cheerful background. There was still enough traffic that she quickly lost sight of Asami’s roadster in the jumble of vehicles.

If there was a curse strong enough to sum up Korra’s feelings, she couldn’t think of it. She tried a few anyway in the hope of improving her mood. It didn’t work.

With all her plans for the evening ruined, and without anything better to do occurring to her at that moment, she spent a little time on the heavy bag, punching until sweat was dripping from her nose and her hands felt numb. That didn’t make her feel better either.

What she felt she wanted, more than anything, was to destroy something. Possibly herself. Create a little destruction to go along with her monumental stupidity. Probably it was a stupid impulse. Hadn’t she learned anything over the last few years? Hitting things only goes so far for solving problems, especially people problems. That was supposed to be the lesson she’d learned since leaving her South Pole training grounds, wasn’t it?

She slumped against the heavy bag, grabbed it on either side, and began smacking her forehead against it. She kept that up for a while, chanting to herself, over and over, “Stupid, stupid, stupid, _stupid_ . . .”

And the worst part was that she also knew exactly what she should do, what needed to be done if she really wanted to fix this. She was just afraid. The Avatar was afraid of talking to someone.

Maybe, just maybe, if she did destroy herself, she’d reincarnate as someone who wasn’t an idiot.

But probably not.

She pressed her head against the bag one more time, sighed, and then sat down and started unwrapping the tape on her hands. She would do the right thing, she knew, and she would do it before the night was through. She just wasn’t going to _like_ it.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid . . .”

~~~

Actually finding Asami was more difficult than Korra had expected. Everyone knew where the Sato estate was, and she’d been there a few times before, so finding her way out there again wasn’t any trouble. And on the way in she’d spotted the same roadster from before hastily parked in the driveway, so she knew Asami was here somewhere. But it wasn’t until she’d been wandering around the grounds for an hour that the sheer size and complexity of the whole place was properly registered in her mind.

A well-dressed man, probably a servant of some kind, had answered the door of the mansion when she’d knocked and told her that Asami was not in—as in not inside the house proper. He’d been very clear on that point. After a little cajoling, he’d reluctantly granted her permission to search the grounds.

One upside of being the Avatar and having everyone recognize you was that people weren’t ever quite sure which rules applied to you or who had the authority to apply the ones which did. Apparently this meant you could show up on a late evening at someone’s house and demand to wander about and they’d let you do it.

Not that Korra had tried this particular trick very often or anything.

So she’d searched and, so far, hadn’t found Asami herself. She had found the massive forests which bordered the estate, filled with the riotous mixture of trees which were so common around Republic City; and the mechanic’s shop, where Asami could so often be found tinkering with her latest project, although not on this particular night; and the testing track; and a variety of gardens, sheds, hedges, airship docks, and other nonsense.

And she was just poking through one of the half dozen garages when it occurred to her that the servant—probably a butler now that she thought about it—could have lied to her. Maybe that’s why he’d been willing to let her search everywhere else.

Which might mean that he’d been told to say that, because maybe Asami didn’t _want_ to talk. Maybe she wanted to be left alone. And maybe Korra had just wasted an hour doing nothing at all.

Feeling thoroughly discouraged, she flopped down onto the concrete floor and sat back against one of the many canvas tarps which covered up satomobiles or whatever contraptions this particular garage held. The shapes looked rather like racers, and it felt like something rubber against her back. Probably a tire.

She briefly entertained the idea of forcing her way into the house. Or flying up to one of the high balconies. Or trying to figure out which window was Asami’s bedroom and waiting there in the hopes of being spotted. But she dismissed each thought as soon as it popped up.

If Asami wanted to talk, she wouldn’t have rushed off. Besides, Korra couldn’t even remember which side of the mansion Asami’s bedroom was on. She didn’t relish the idea of spending all night waiting outside an empty window. And what if Asami stayed up all night and never went to her room at all?

What did she do in that huge house anyway?

Korra had never really considered the idea before. Aside from a few servants, Asami had nobody. Her father was in jail and would probably never get out. Her mother was . . . gone. She had no siblings, seemed to have few friends. Yet she lived in this gigantic house with a hundred empty rooms.

While Korra pondered this conundrum, she got back to her feet and began pacing around the garage, going from one sleek tarp covered form to another. She’d never been very good at keeping still.

“Who’s in there?”

Korra jumped slightly, her hands automatically clenching before she told herself to relax. The voice had come from outside the building, and she could hear footsteps. As she opened her mouth to say something in her defense, the footsteps got closer and then Asami appeared in the doorway.

She had her hair tied back, her hands and shirt were greasy, and Korra couldn’t help but notice that there was a smudge of grease on her cheek. She was frowning at first, but her expression softened as soon as she recognized the trespasser. “Korra? What are you doing here?”

Whatever Korra had been about to say died on her lips. “I, uh—” she stammered instead, trying desperately to think of something which wouldn’t sound embarrassing or, worse, a bit creepy. “I was looking for you.”

“I was down in the underground shop.”

“Oh. Right. I forgot about that,” said Korra. And it was true, she had forgotten. Stupid, stupid.

But Asami was all smiles. “What brings you here, besides looking for me? Not thinking about going for a drive, I hope?”

“No! Uh, no. I wanted to talk to you.” Korra looked down at her feet. “If, y’know, you wanted . . . to talk, I mean.”

There was silence for a while, except for the some crickets chirping and the distant sounds of the city. Korra looked up. 

Asami was watching her, still smiling. “Well? Come on then. I was just heading back to get cleaned up and get something to drink.”

She beckoned, and Korra followed her back out into the warm evening air. 

As they walked, Korra mentally reviewed the list of things she’d decided to say earlier, and felt a small stab of panic when she realized that the list had gotten kind of fuzzy in her head. She’d been so sure of what to say, and now it all seemed either wrong or she couldn’t remember the exact words she’d wanted to use.

What if she said something that made it worse?

The danger seemed so real to her that she kept her mouth shut the entire way back to the house. They went in through a back door which led to a kitchen bigger than any Korra had ever seen before. There were a few people, also likely servants, bustling about, and Asami greeted them as they passed and then led them through what felt like a maze of rooms until they came to a small, comfortable looking office with a couple of chairs, a messy desk, and lots of books scattered all over.

Asami gestured to a chair. “You can sit wherever. Just give me a minute to wash up.”

Korra nodded and sat down. The chair was leather and felt as comfortable as the room looked, but she couldn’t bring herself to relax. Her eyes roved around, over the papers on the desk, which appeared to be mostly a lot of numbers, and over the books piled on the desk, on the floor, and filling shelves along the walls. There weren’t many titles she recognized. Her instructors hadn’t encouraged her to do much reading during her childhood training. Sometimes she felt lucky that they’d bothered to teach her to read at all.

She was just beginning to feel tempted to start poking through some of the papers when Asami returned, looking sharp in a clean shirt and with all the grease wiped off. She’d even applied fresh lipstick, if Korra was any judge of such things, and brushed her hair.

Rather than sit behind the desk, Asami took the chair next to Korra. “So,” she said, fixing Korra with an intent green-eyed gaze, “what did you want to talk about?”

Korra squirmed in her seat. She hadn’t figured out exactly what she wanted to say, but it was too late to back out now. “I saw how you looked when I, y’know—” she made a vague swiping gesture, her voice trailing off.

“When you sent a lot of fire right at my head, you mean?”

Wincing, Korra nodded. “Yes, that. . . I know I said I was sorry, but I’m . . . really sorry, Asami. I feel really bad about it. I shouldn’t have done it. There’s no excuse.”

“It wasn’t great,” said Asami, shrugging. “But it’s fine. I’m okay now. It was just bad timing. Don’t worry about it.”

She smiled then, but it looked halfhearted.

I’m getting this wrong, Korra thought. I’m making it worse. I should leave before she throws me out.

“It’s nice that you came to check up on me,” Asami continued. “But I really am okay.”

Korra stood up abruptly. “I’ll get out of your hair then. Sorry again.”

She bowed slightly, immediately felt silly for doing so, and fled towards the safety of the door. She felt her face and ears burn.

“Hey, wait up.”

Korra stopped in the doorway. The effort of overriding her urgent desire to be elsewhere was strangely exhausting, and she sagged a little, steadying herself against the jamb.

“You don’t have to go, if you don’t want.”

After a moment of hesitation, Korra turned around. Asami was standing beside her chair, still wearing that forced smile. But there was something else there too. Korra wasn’t quite sure what it was, but it reminded her of the way people look when they realize they’re losing a fight they desperately need to win.

Asami brushed her fingers through a thick strand of her black hair. “You did come all this way, after all. And I haven’t gotten that drink . . .”

~~~

Asami led Korra up some stairs and then down a long hallway. Other than a few servants, the house was as deserted as Korra had imagined it earlier. 

Despite some superficial similarities, it felt nothing like being on Air Temple Island. Both places were full to the brim with magnificent artifacts and architecture—tall towers, carved furniture, vaulted ceilings, colorful drapes, elegant sliding doors, ceramics, painted screens, and so on—and everything here was probably also just as full of history. But there was an inescapable desolate feeling to the place.

Where Air Temple Island bustled with life and noise, the Sato estate was eerily quiet. The servants were respectful, and Asami seemed nicer and more thoughtful towards them than Korra had ever been towards any of the Air Acolytes, but it was obvious they only worked here. Nobody was really living here. Maybe not even Asami.

The few rooms which showed signs of being used were sterile—decorated, often ostentatiously so, but without personality. And there were countless empty rooms, with furniture wrapped in dusty canvas sheets, and stacks of boxes, some only partly filled as if someone had started packing up and then forgotten to come back.

As beautiful as so much of it was, it put Korra in the mind of a ruin.

“Up here,” said Asami, gesturing with her free hand towards a set of double doors. Her other hand held her drink, which she’d arrived at earlier through a complicated dance of servants.

Korra wasn’t sure what the liquid in the fancy glass cup was, beyond being red and presumably very expensive. She’d been watching it slosh back and forth as they walked because it distracted her both from how uncomfortable she felt and how sad the surroundings seemed.

They went through the doors and back outside onto a large balcony. There were a few sets of chairs made of gracefully shaped metal, a matching patio table with a clear glass top, and a shiny metal tube about as wide across as Korra’s waist clamped to the wood and stone railing which ringed the entire platform. After a moment’s puzzling, she realized it was a telescope.

Asami set her glass down on the table and sat beside it. Korra took a seat across from her.

“You’ve never been up here, have you?” said Asami.

Korra shook her head. “Uh, no. I’ve never even been back in the house since that day I . . .” Her voice died away when she realized what she was about to say, and she briefly pondered whether she was going to manage a single human interaction today without putting an entire foot into her mouth. Odds weren’t looking good.

“When you accused my father of being an Equalist?”

The note of forced, almost pointed, cheerfulness in her voice made Korra flinch and glance at the floor. “Yeah, that.”

Asami stared at nothing for a moment, then sagged a little in her chair. “Sorry. That came out a little harsher than I wanted it to.” She gave a sad little half smile. “It’s been one of those days.”

“I’m sorry. I probably haven’t been helping.”

“Don’t say that.” Asami picked up the glass with two fingers around the stem, eyed the liquid, took a sip, then turned her gaze out towards the horizon. “It’s really not your fault. What did I say before? Bad timing? That’s all it is.”

Not being sure what else there was to say, Korra joined her in looking beyond the borders of Republic City. The surrounding mountains loomed like ghosts in the near distance, visible mostly because their massive forms blocked out the stars, and because the peaks were just high enough to still catch the last lazy dregs of sunset. Their faint orange glow made them look like cooling embers against the purple twilight.

What am I doing here? That was what Korra asked herself, and not for the first time that night she couldn’t think of an answer. 

She wanted to help Asami. Everyone had had it out for the poor girl since the attempted Equalist takeover and the arrest of her father. The newspapers and radio shows were all running terrible, gossipy stories about the Sato scandal, and the horror of Future Industries, and where it had all gone so terribly wrong.

Korra had seen the story the _United Daily News_ ran this morning—a copy of it had been laid out on the table at Mako and Bolin’s apartment, the headline screaming “SATO FAMILY TRAGEDY” in bold letters, with “The Untold Story Which Motivated Sato Betrayal” below it.

She hadn’t given it much thought beyond feeling a small twinge of pity, at least not until Asami had showed up at the gym later that day, asking for a sparring partner. The truth was that she’d likely had that hunted look in her eyes even before Korra had spun any fire her way. And Korra hadn’t noticed until after she’d personally made it worse.

What kind of friend did that make her? Not a very good one, in her opinion.

“Today was the day,” whispered Asami.

“Hmm?” said Korra, still chasing her thoughts in circles. She blinked a couple of times and then focused on Asami, who was studying her glass intently.

“My mother died today, twelve years ago.”

Korra’s eyes widened. She heard herself say, “Oh.” It didn’t seem like enough, but after that her mouth hung open and no other words came out. What could you say to something like that?

“I’m sure you saw the newspaper stories,” said Asami bitterly. “Or heard the radio specials. It’s the talk of the town.” She gestured with the cup, as if sarcastically toasting the unseen city, and then took another sip.

“I did. I mean, I did see one of the newspaper stories, but I didn’t know.” Korra hung her head, wondering whether the guilt she was feeling was showing on her face. “I didn’t know it was today.”

“You didn’t read the story?”

“No! I haven’t read any of them. I swear.”

The half smile returned, twisting one side of Asami’s mouth, more mournful and less sad this time. “Well, that’s something, I guess. I think you’re the only person in the whole United Republic who hasn’t then.”

Korra sat up a little straighter and looked Asami in the eye. “I could go have a talk with them. I mean, I don’t know if they’d listen to me, but I could tell them to stop. I am the Avatar and all. Maybe if I broke a few desks or something . . .”

Asami laughed, almost as much a snort as a laugh. It was a surprisingly indelicate sound coming from such an elegant person. Korra had been quite serious about the idea and felt a tiny bit put out to have it so derisively rejected, but that paled in comparison to how pleased she felt to see Asami look happy, even if only for a second.

“I’m serious!” she added.

“I know you are. But I think you’ve gotten into enough trouble on my account. And I don’t think it’d help anyway. They’d just run a story tomorrow about how I’m trying to bully the media with the help of my minion, the Avatar.”

Korra sunk back against the chair and crossed her arms. “Maybe they need a little bullying,” she muttered, while imagining punching a few of the more likely targets. She’d had enough of her own scrapes with the Republic City press to have a long list.

“You can’t punch every problem,” said Asami, and she was smiling now—a real smile, none of that sad smirking business. “But . . . I appreciate the offer.”

“Of course. You’re still part of Team Avatar. And—” Korra felt her cheeks flush a little. “. . . You’re still my friend.”

It was silly how embarrassed she felt at saying something supportive. Maybe it was true that punching didn’t solve every problem, but why was it so much easier than being nice to people? Not for the first time in her life, she wondered if there was something deeply wrong with herself.

Asami drained the glass, sniffing as she did and holding the glass high, like maybe she didn’t want Korra to see her reaction. There were no tears when she returned the glass to the table and relaxed into her seat, but she wasn’t smiling anymore either. If anything, she appeared determined, looking back out at the distant mountains, with one arm resting on the tabletop and the muscles in her forearm tense, as though she was trying to hang onto the flat surface.

“I just want to get through today,” she said. “If you want to help then you can keep me company for a few more hours, okay?”

Korra nodded. “I can do that.”

Then she hesitated, feeling awkward again, feeling, in fact, as unsure of herself in that moment as she could ever remember being. But then she thought about what she would want if her mother had died and her father were in jail and she was all alone in an empty house. The answer seemed obvious, and she leaned forward, reached across the table, and gently laid her hand on Asami’s own.

There was a moment when Asami did nothing, and then she turned her arm over and gripped Korra’s hand so tightly that it almost hurt.

“I’ll stay,” said Korra, “for as long as you need me.”

**Author's Note:**

> This should more or less fit in between S1 and S2 of the show. Any mistakes in the timeline, incorrect details, or slightly different characterization can be safely blamed on how my brain tried to blot out the specifics of those two seasons in self defense. Everything else can be blamed on me.


End file.
